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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29814306">delicate like a dying flower</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/im_trash_lol/pseuds/im_trash_lol'>im_trash_lol</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Brazil Fling, Fluff, How Do I Tag, I think this is kinda a character study?? idk, Kinda Sad Hinata, M/M, Oblivious Hinata Shouyou, Post-Timeskip, Unrequited Love, sorta canon compliant, the ages might be off but dw about it</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 19:07:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,492</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29814306</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/im_trash_lol/pseuds/im_trash_lol</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The sun blazed, intense and unforgiving, as it washed over the wide expanse of sea and sand before Hinata. He burned, as sweat dripped down his chest and face and the backs of his knees. The sand, hot from hours under the strong Brazilian sun, slid under his feet as he ran for the volleyball. It scraped, coarse and rough, yet soft, against his stomach and knees as he dives. The ball rose, the sun just past its highest point, and his partner of fifteen minutes jumped, flying through the air to spike the ball. </p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio, Hinata Shouyou/Oikawa Tooru, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. anything at all (hinata)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I hope you guys like it! Right now it's rated T, although it might change with future chapters to M, idk rn...this asexual may not be feeling any sex scenes LOL. Thank you to @calileothegreat on Tumblr who beta'd the first half of this chapter in its roughest form!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sun blazed, intense and unforgiving, as it washed over the wide expanse of sea and sand before Hinata. He burned, as sweat dripped down his chest and face and the backs of his knees. The sand, hot from hours under the strong Brazilian sun, slid under his feet as he ran for the volleyball. It scraped, coarse and rough, yet soft, against his stomach and knees as he dives. The ball rose, the sun just past its highest point, and his partner of fifteen minutes jumped, flying through the air to spike the ball. </p><p>He scrambled up, running backwards as he watched his opponents, watched as excitement thrummed in his veins. He’s tired. Tired from waking up at ungodly hours, tired from the sun, tired from being somewhere new even after months and months. But as his eyes track the ball, his muscles sing, the euphoria of running, jumping, diving, and spiking washes away the fatigue. </p><p>His partner saves the ball, bumping it up, high, too close to the net, but it’s enough. It’s always enough– and Hinata is fifteen again, running. He’s seventeen again, boundless energy, with the world at his fingertips and wings on his back. It’s all the same, but it isn’t; with the wind, and the sand, and the salt in the air. Hinata’s feet find purchase in the ever shifting loose sand, and he’s nineteen as he explodes upwards. Then he’s twenty as he raises his arm back in complete control, with a power he hadn’t found on the wooden courts of high school. His arm swings downwards, connecting with that perfect and imperfect ball. </p><p>The two men on the other side of the net, shirtless in the heat of the summer sun, aren’t in synch. They don’t have the skill to make up for the half-second hesitation, and just like that, the set is over. The ball thudded dully into the sand, just past their fingertips. It’s satisfying, but it isn’t, and he lands with a smile on his sweat covered face. His opponents stand and walk forward to shake his hand. The smooth sounds of Portuguese rolling off their tongues as they utter a “thanks” and “good game”. </p><p>With a faint sense of sadness, the pang dulled by the heat and routine, Hinata watches as the three men walk off to drink, or swim, or both, and he’s left alone on that sandy court. He’d won two games and lost five. The tiredness wraps around him again, as the sun leaches his energy, and Hinata stumbles off to where his bag is placed. He wants to keep practicing, wants to keep moving and rushing forward, but it’s been a <em>day</em> and he doesn’t have the energy. He’s almost tired of volleyball, somehow. </p><p>Gathering his belongings, he digs through his bag for his phone, his fingers clasping the warm rubbery material of his phone case. Reluctantly, he flips the cover off of his screen, something like fondness and love rising as he glances at his wallpaper. An indescribable feeling of...of something wells up, tightening his throat, as he sees no new messages. He isn’t counting, not really, but he knows it’s been a month since he and Kageyama last talked. </p><p>Like waves breaking on the coast, his brain can’t stop. His fingers flying through the motions as he scrolls through his texts. And it’s the timezone difference, that’s the latest excuse, but it isn’t really. The conversation stilted and filled to the brim with pleasantries. He’s never felt more stuck. Hinata is all too aware of Kageyama moving forward, pushing forward, surging forward, and away. Away from him, away from the memories they shared. </p><p>Their quiet moments, their friendship (and just that and only that, nothing more than platonic), no longer a rubber band that stretched and stretched and never snapped. Their friendship stretched until it couldn’t stretch anymore. After a year far apart, it’s twine, brittle, close to breaking, and no matter how much Hinata wants to, he can’t salvage it. It won’t mend. He can feel it. It’s a whisper, there and gone, like the brush of cherry blossoms against his fingertips, against his cheek. </p><p>Hinata’s fingers shook with an anxiety he never felt until he moved, and his world changed drastically. No longer the small bubble of Karasuno or the seemingly gigantic, all encompassing bubble of Tokyo. It’s like his first jump in the sand, feet scrabbling to find purchase, toes digging in, but the sand shifts and he slips. Even though he isn’t falling as often, he’s still stumbling. The ground isn’t solid and he doesn’t know anymore. </p><p>He types out a “Hello.” It feels too impersonal, but things are weirdly tense between them. Kageyama has changed subtly and it makes all the difference. Hinata deletes the “hello.” Heart stuttering, he forces bubbly, forces sixteen to the surface. He grasps for that rhythm he once had with Kageyama, and his fingers don’t respond; because his tendency to overshare at sixteen (or seventeen, or eighteen) feels unnatural now. Too much. </p><p>Frowning, he starts to turn off his phone, but Kageyama is just Kageyama. If he’s rushing forward, Hinata can too. He sends a short message with the customary, “how are you’s”, and “I’m doing fine (<strike>alone</strike>),” and he only allows one small crack to peek through with a photo of the sandy volleyball at his feet. Deleting the, “I miss you,” and replacing it with, “volleyball is different here.” </p><p>With a slow exhale, he sends the short text and the photo, and gathers his things after shoving his phone away. He’d check it later, in a few hours, just to give himself enough time. Time to…he wasn’t sure, but he wants time…needs it. Shoving his feet into the sandals Yachi had laughed hysterically at, a slight smile pulled his lips up as he thought of her starry hair and bright smile. He dashes to his bike, wheeling around to head to his part-time delivery job, and he tries not to think of grass under his toes and ice cream bars and warm meat buns. </p><p> </p><p>———————————————————————————————————————</p><p> </p><p>The streets of Rio were always crowded, loud and busy. It was a place that he could love with the people and the noise, but it wasn’t home and it was vast. It was immeasurable to him. Like the backstreets of Miyagi when he was seven and ten and thirteen, discovering shortcuts and hideaways. The humidity stuck to his throat as he whipped his head back and forth, trying to find the address of his last delivery.</p><p>His fingers tapped against the handlebar of his bike, uncertainty drumming its way through his body. Hinata was well and truly lost in the bustle of Rio. Some days being lost was what he craved, the city new and unusual, full of all the things that made life worth living. But today was definitely not that kind of day. He definitely couldn’t spend hours exploring and mapping out the strange contours of this new city. Hinata winced as he backtracked, asking for directions in stilted Portuguese. </p><p>It took another fifteen minutes to find the house, and five more minutes of bowing and apologizing as the customer shouted in rounded syllables and sharp words. Hinata jogged away, the day dragging at him. How long had it been since he’d really talked to someone? Too long. He can’t remember. </p><p>Determination burned in his stomach. He just needed time and everything would settle soon. He clenched his jaw, as he swung onto his bike, his pack swinging lightly when he heard a clatter. Jerking his head to the left, he saw his chapstick on the ground. Dread filled him, like a pass just out of reach, a step too far. </p><p>In a rush of movements, he picked the chapstick up, and ruffled through his bag, running though a meager list of items. Phone, check. Week-old receipts, check. Snack bar, check. Water bottle, check. Wallet…wallet…wallet. </p><p>A numbness settled over his shoulders, and dread wrapped around his neck like a too cold towel. The wallet Natsu had gifted him right before he left. Her words joking, but sincere—in a tone of nonchalance that was tight with sadness, “Your wallet is so uncool, so…here’s a new one.” </p><p> </p><p>The wallet that had all of his money. </p><p> </p><p>Relief came as quickly as the panic. </p><p> </p><p>The wallet that didn’t have his I.D., the wallet that didn’t have his cards, the wallet that only held money and memories of Natsu and Miyagi and home and—</p><p> </p><p>Hinata took a moment to breathe, eyes shut. </p><p> </p><p>He still had his necessities, and Natsu would laugh at his clumsiness. She’d be sad when he told her, a smile that matched his own in intensity plastered across her face to hide the melancholy…The disappointment that he lost a gift from her. But she’d call him an idiot with a smile and a look of affection. Her idiot older brother, a full fledged adult, all the way across the globe, and still making the same mistakes he would next to her. </p><p> </p><p>Different but the same. Twenty but sixteen. </p><p> </p><p>Hinata zipped up his bag and clambered on his bike. He’d figure it out. Rio was no match for him. He was sunshine, and Rio was sunshine in a bottle. He biked back to his shared apartment, mind already wandering to dinner, and another opportunity to talk to his reclusive roommate. </p><p>He grinned, as he exhaled and swerved around cars and people. Diving back into the busy world around him, he let the warmth of the setting sun burn away his worries. Hinata shouted hello’s as he biked as quickly as he could. </p><p>In no time at all, he arrived at the apartment he shared with Pedro, and the sun had disappeared. The reds and purples that pulled away his worries, that distracted him from the underlying homesickness that had slowed to a trickle when faced with the beauty of Rio at sunset, returned. Like a faucet flicked off carelessly. </p><p>Energy waning, Hinata climbed the stairs up to his apartment. He entered the apartment carefully, trying to tone down his everything. Almost as if he was trying not to scare a cat away. He toed his shoes off carelessly, kicking them to the side. Taking a deep breath, he rounded the corner, eyes focused on the table Pedro sat at, his back to Hinata. Softening his voice, the exuberance of his teen years ebbing, Hinata uttered the same line he’d uttered almost every night in Portuguese that was slowly getting better, tones folding around his tongue more naturally. </p><p>“Pedro, dinner! Want to eat together?”</p><p>The hope he used to hold onto in a tight grip, loosened, falling through his fingers as Pedro didn’t answer. Didn’t even turn around and acknowledge Hinata. Every moment of the day felt compounded—each a barb digging deep. </p><p>Defeated, Hinata slumped, slouching as he walked to his room. Not bothering to turn on the lights, he opened his phone and stared at the photo on his home screen. Yamaguchi’s smiling face—proud and exuberant, Tsukishima’s scowl (Hinata now knew it was his scowl of fondness), Yachi’s broad grin, his own excited smile, and Kageyma. Kageyama’s pout, mouth turned down, but eyes belying the truth. They all looked…happy. </p><p>And it was too much. Everything was overwhelming. He slid down, back against the wall, folding into himself like origami, becoming a smaller and smaller shape. Why had he chosen this? To leave the comfort of Japan. To leave what he’d known. To start over while Kageyama bounded ahead and he faded from Kageyama’s memories. Like snow melting in the winter sun. </p><p>Hinata buried his head in his arms, knees folded up against his chest, and he couldn’t stop the tears. The anger at being forgotten knotted in his chest. His loneliness in the vibrancy of Rio seemed to emphasize the helplessness he felt. He was a failed test, paper crumpled and trampled and ruined. Something cracked, deep and resounding, and he stopped holding back—let the feelings wash over him, and he wallowed, aching, bone deep, for something to change. For something to wake him up, to push him forward. To help him. </p><p>Then, everything seemed to still. A deep rattling breath filled Hinata’s lungs. He exhaled, blinking away the stars and the tears in the corners of his eyes. Slowly, he stretched, muscles stiff from the position he had been sitting in. Breathing deeply, he closed his eyes, taking note of his surroundings. The wood creaking under his knees as he repositioned himself. Remnants of salt and sea carried into his room by a rare gentle breeze. He exhaled, as his hands unclenched, fingers rubbing the soft material of his shorts. </p><p>“Voice it from the diaphragm!” he shouted, expelling the last of his dark mood. “HA! HA! HA! HA!” </p><p>He could almost see it leaving his body like smoke, winding from his lips, clouding the room as he shouted. Then, with his last (HA!) the smoke dispelled, clearing, and he opened his eyes. </p><p>Hinata breathed in, imagining his lungs filling with Rio, the essence that was Rio. It was night, but he could almost taste it, warmth and sun and spices filling his lungs. And it wasn’t home, but it was close enough for now. It was enough. </p><p>Shaking his arms, he stood up, determined again. He had time, not a lot, but he had time. He could accomplish what he set out to do. And there was no time like the present. </p><p>Jumping towards his door, he grabbed his phone and bag and ran out of the room. A whirlwind of energy again, he was seventeen: and he was rushing to meet Kageyama for practice, just the two of them. Bounding down the stairs, he was seven: chasing a firefly, and he felt wonder filling him again, at the nightlife. The yellow street lamps lit his way as he pedaled harder towards the beach. And he was twenty: pulling up to the busy sounds of music and beach volleyball. To people of all ages, running, diving, laughing, and drinking. </p><p>Everything was new again, and it was magic. Energy hummed in his veins as he tossed aside his bag and kicked his sandals off. Hinata watched an older man, cheeks flushed from heat and exercise and drink, flub a toss, ball glancing off his fingers and backwards towards him. He wasn’t seventeen or eighteen, but it was instinct, his body moved in familiarity, and he saved the ball. </p><p>The older man grinned at him, clapping him on the shoulder, “Take over for me will ya?”</p><p>It felt different at night, calmer, less pressure. Like time had paused, just for a bit. So, Hinata nodded, a grin—that felt natural and real—broke across his face, like the sun over the horizon. Leaping forward, he joined the game, surrounded by strangers that smiled at him. They were playing just because they loved it. Because it was fun. And he fed off the energy, fed off the excitement. </p><p>The words still were foreign to him, vowels that flew from drunken mouths too quickly, but he knew–what the smiles meant, what the high fives meant, what the excitement insinuated. </p><p>He was sixteen, watching third-years bump and set and dive. Hinata, like clockwork, fell back into the routine of it all, eyes wide as he watched the practiced way an older man dived in the sand. The sand felt softer, more forgiving than it did under the swelter of the morning. It was strict, but kind, and his body was finally understanding the rules of the sand. </p><p>Hinata fell into the rhythm of the game. Instincts overtook as he sprinted, leaping to save the ball, and he was eighteen shouting in excitement and happiness. </p><p>“Nice kill!!” </p><p>And he wasn’t eighteen, he wasn’t surrounded by friends, but his cheers were answered with confused shouts of agreement and elation. He was twenty and he was finding his footing in Rio, on this pliable and rough court. </p><p>Then, a gift in words, in a shocked voice, in a language he hadn’t heard out of another person’s mouth in too long, “Ehhhhh? Seriously though??”</p><p>He knew that voice, smooth, deeper than his, often twisted around taunts and laughs. The voice that he last heard over a soft murmur of, “good game.” A voice he hadn’t heard since his first-year in high school. Hinata turned his head slowly, almost scared that he’d imagined the voice, that his desire to see Kageyama had conjured an apparition in the form of someone he only knew in connection to Kageyama. </p><p>But it wasn’t his imagination. Because there, behind him, shrouded in the yellow glow of a street lamp, tall, muscular, and just as handsome as Hinata remembered, was Oikawa Tooru. </p><p>If Hinata was smoother he might’ve contained his shock better. He wasn’t, though. He was twenty, but fifteen and his brain to mouth filter wasn’t working so late at night. It was like an old memory he’d discarded became important again—sepia to full color—and two words sprang forward, and spilled from his lips, intense and resounding, ringing loudly over the sounds of the beach nightlife, “Grand King!?!?!”</p><p>Oikawa’s face was frozen as he stared in what looked like amazement at Hinata. Hinata was twenty now, and maybe if he was fifteen he would’ve missed the flicker of <em>something</em> across Oikawa’s face, the quick up down of his eyes, taking in Hinata in his entirety. Tan, older, <em>bright</em>. Hinata noticed. Maybe it was just this small glimpse of <em>home</em> but something settled in Hinata, and he shivered under Oikawa’s gaze.</p><p>“What are you doing here Gra…Oikawa?” Hinata asked, stumbling over the quick vowels of Japanese he hadn’t used in far too long.</p><p>Oikawa let out a shocked chuckle, “That’s my line…”</p><p>And this was easy, Hinata could handle this, he could feel the tension vanishing, as a smile parted his lips, “I’m here to train using beach volleyball!”</p><p>He was less subtle now, pausing to really take Hinata in at <em>twenty—</em>older, different—like the ocean a few years later at a familiar shore. The same but different (<em>was it the place that changed or the person?</em>). Pride washed over Hinata, he knew he had changed, could feel it in the sun and sand roughened callouses on his hands and feet, and the stability he could fake in the face of the unknown (but only if he <em>really really </em>concentrated). He tilted his head back, chin jutting forward in a faint challenge.</p><p>But Oikawa did the unexpected.</p><p>He grinned at Hinata, something sparking in his eyes, a familiarity Hinata never would’ve expected from <em>The Grand King</em>. A great whoosh of air left his lungs, and Oikawa laughed unabashed, loud and comfortable, stunning Hinata into silence.</p><p>All Hinata could do was stare, he’d never seen Oikawa laugh like this (<em>memories skimmed barely rising, a faint mist—fog in the morning—taunting laughs, a laugh of relief, a laugh of disbelief</em>), and it made Hinata’s heart beat quicker, blood pumping, as a flush spread down his neck. Oikawa was undeniably attractive. When Hinata was fifteen and unsure, and only thinking about volleyball, he’d never taken the time to really <em>see</em> Oikawa. To notice him past surface level observations.</p><p>But, in the humid heat of Rio and the magical hum of nighttime in the city, Oikawa was new to him. Born again. Cheerful and genuine in a way he hadn’t been at eighteen. He was freer, more open, and Hinata’s stomach clenched when Oikawa walked forward, clapping a hand on his shoulder.</p><p>And, <em>oh</em>, Hinata was distracted, by the setter’s <em>hands</em> fingers long, palms broader than his, thumb just brushing the bare skin of the base of his neck, and the familiar scrape of calluses on thin cotton set off a whisper of a memory. Kageyama’s hand, brushing against his cheek, ruffling his hair, and…he jolted out of the memory as Oikawa leaned forward a bit more.</p><p>“You never fail to surprise me, shrimp.”</p><p>It was the heat (most definitely the heat) that caused Hinata’s cheeks to flush darker under Oikawa’s discerning gaze and amused expression. Hinata looked up at Oikawa’s face, unable to respond under Oikawa’s full attention and those deep brown eyes.</p><p>Hinata opened his mouth, struggling to come up with <em>something</em> to fill the pause in their conversation. Thankfully, one of Oikawa’s companions called out in English, “Tooru, do you know him?”</p><p>And the spell broke, Oikawa let go of his shoulder, stepped away, and turned to answer in English, a smirk crossing his face in amusement, “Um, he’s just a middle schooler that lived in my neighborhood.”</p><p>Hinata jolted at the words, a cold wash of indignation dousing the warmth coursing through him, “Oikawa, even I can understand a little English!”</p><p>He turned his head to look Hinata at the exclamation, lips quirked up in a smirk. Oikawa turned back to the two men he was with and told them to go on without him. When they walked off, he whirled back around, smile gone, but a relaxed expression on his face as he strode back towards Hinata.</p><p>“So, uh what are you doing here Oikawa?” Hinata questioned, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.</p><p>“Well,” Oikawa answered, a spark lighting in his eyes, “I’m playing in the Argentine league right now.”</p><p>Hinata jumped, thrilled at his words.</p><p>“You’re next door!” He exclaimed, confusion suddenly crossing his face, “Uh? Why Argentina? You seem like you’d go to Italy or something like that!”</p><p>Hinata was fifteen again, talking to the <em>Grand King</em> for the first time, staring as Oikawa flipped back into his arrogant and proud persona, proclaiming, proudly, with no embarrassment, “I totally get it. I definitely would fit in <em>perfectly~</em> in Italy. Never visited before, though.”</p><p>Hinata wasn’t guarded enough with his expression, and his face froze, head tilted slightly, eyes wide, and peering up at Oikawa owlishly, like he was an alien species he’d never encountered before.</p><p>“Can you quit making that face, please?” Oikawa sighed out, heavily. </p><p>Easily distracted, as always, Hinata’s mind flew to the next thing, and it burst forth, like a dam breaking suddenly, and loudly, “OIKAWA! Let’s play volleyball together! I—”</p><p>His stomach interrupted him, at almost the same volume as his voice. He flushed in embarrassment, as Oikawa stared at him, impassively, lips twitching, like he was trying to stop a laugh from escaping.</p><p>He turned his head slightly away from Hinata, exasperation leaking into his voice as he said, tonelessly, “Ah, I was actually on my way to eat something. Why don’t you take me some place good.”</p><p>Immediately, Hinata perked up, effervescent smile back in place, “There’s this delicious, really healthy place that’s super cheap!”</p><p>“Don’t worry about the money part,” Oikawa answered easily, “it’s my treat! I can do that much for ya.”</p><p>The stress of the day welled up again, as Hinata looked up at Oikawa. He couldn’t help it, his emotions had been a rollercoaster, and tears started falling. Oikawa was an angel in that moment, a <em>godsend</em>.</p><p>Oikawa’s mouth dropped, a noise of shock escaping as he watched Hinata cry silently, eyes wide, tears flowing freely.</p><p>“What? Why—?”</p><p>Hinata was a blubbering slightly, interrupting Oikawa’s questions, “…today I lost my wallet during my part-time job…and…”</p><p>His rambling was cut off as Oikawa burst into laughter, clutching his stomach, and doubling over. Hinata grinned and brought an arm up to wipe away his tears. He felt it then, Oikawa’s draw, like he was gravity, and Hinata was just a passing comet being dragged into orbit. He was hurtling through the atmosphere just to crash and burn. Oikawa was, infectious, irresistible, and oddly familiar in a nostalgic way. It was like staring at an old photo of a moment he couldn’t quite recall. A fuzzy, black and white movie, in 360p.</p><p>So Hinata smiled, and chuckled along, finding the humor he hadn’t grasped earlier that day. He turned, and jogged back to grab his bag as Oikawa’s laughter turned soft and breathless. Hinata whirled around, grin in place, and Oikawa waved gesturing him back in a careless sort of, “let’s go!”</p><p>His heart leapt, and he sprinted back, hand reaching out to snag Oikawa’s wrist. Hinata yanked Oikawa forward, and he followed, with an amused huff, pulling away slightly. And Hinata felt like he was reliving a moment at seventeen, a mirror reflection of a colder time. A different arm tugging out of his grip, and a rougher voice muttering in annoyance at his boundless energy.</p><p>But the mirror cracked. Shattered. Shards crunching underfoot, digging into the <em>here</em>, and <em>now</em>, of Rio. The mirror image didn’t last (the shards only flew so far), because instead of annoyance, instead of yanking his arm away and following at a distance—a <em>safe</em> distance—Oikawa grabbed his hand. Slender and elegant. Beautiful, unbearably pale fingers, clasped his smaller, broader, tan, fingers. And it was slightly sweaty from the humidity and heat, and the calluses and shape of his fingers were wrong. No, not wrong. Different.</p><p>It wasn’t cold fingers wrapped around a warm wrist, breath escaping in white exhales. It wasn’t quiet dark streets lit by the moon and stars and the yellow light of a shop front. It wasn’t meat buns and Pocari and hot chocolate and cinnamon. It wasn’t cheeks red from the winter chill and hushed whispers while dashing past dark homes.</p><p>It was sweltering summer heat. Sweaty palms sliding against each other, the roughness of sand stuck on fingers scraping slightly. It was…Hinata wasn’t sure what it was yet, but it felt like more than nothing.</p><p>Hinata turned back, surprised, and slightly star struck, as he gazed at Oikawa’s flushed face, a smile exposing the white sheen of his teeth, bright against the pink flush of his lips. Oikawa drew closer to Hinata, drifting forward, a leaf caught in Hinata’s meandering current. </p><p>“Well? Lead the way, shrimp.”</p><p>Hinata shivered at the huskiness in Oikawa’s voice, the higher pitched whine he’d once associated with Oikawa, gone, in that murmur. Oikawa stared down at Hinata, and then squeezed his hand, prompting him, Hinata flushed and grinned. He turned away from the heat of Oikawa’s stare, and forged on, tugging Oikawa after him.</p><p>He didn’t dare turn back, eyes forward, thoughts racing as he tried to force his mind to wander away from the loose grip of Oikawa’s hand around his. Loose enough that he could pull away. Tight enough to stop him from doing just that.</p><p>They slowed to a stroll, and Hinata was thankful for Oikawa’s perceptiveness. Oikawa could easily keep pace, could overtake Hinata’s shorter stride, but he didn’t. He trailed slightly behind—drifting in Hinata’s wake—though their hands stayed intertwined. </p><p>He didn’t know what he wanted, didn’t know what Oikawa wanted from <em>him</em>. He felt like a planet knocked off its axis, off kilter, listing to one side, trying to spin itself back into place. He wasn’t used to <em>this</em>, whatever this was. He wasn’t used to holding hands, or holding the attention of a boy, a <em>man</em>.</p><p>Hinata, preoccupied with volleyball and Kageyama (<em>his best friend!!</em>), had never thought about romance in high school. It was only in his third year that he realized—with a messy, sad, drunken moment—that Yachi was kissable after two shots of vodka, and only then. And it wasn’t until his first week in Rio, lonely, and missing the smell of summer rain, that he discovered he wasn’t interested in women (even after two shots of vodka, or three of tequila, or four beers, or…).</p><p>All he’d known, <em>experienced</em>, were dark corners and fast hands. Senses dulled by pounding music in a language he barely comprehended sober, let alone drunk. And he didn’t know how to do…this. Calmer moments under bright street lamps.</p><p>Was Oikawa interested?<em> Did he even like men?</em> Or was this just Oikawa being Oikawa? Was this some odd way of showing kindness to Hinata as he floundered? Comfort after he cried about losing his wallet? Maybe they could just be friends? Or—</p><p>Hinata shook his head, like he was trying to get water out of his ears, hoping his thoughts, his questions, would spill out without voicing them, or stop, or disappear. He counted to ten, let his eyes rove over the dark alleyways and the neon signs of bars and restaurants they passed. He focused on the humidity clinging to him oppressively, yanking at his thin cotton tee and wrapping around his bare arms and legs. Focused on the sounds of the nightlife, and his quiet footsteps echoed by Oikawa’s. As he finally calmed down, sufficiently distracted by everything else, the restaurant came into view, and Hinata exhaled slowly in relief.</p><p>A smile spread across Hinata’s cheeks (partially real, partially fake), and he whirled around to face Oikawa.</p><p>“Ta-da!” he exclaimed, intentionally spreading his arms wide to pull his hand from Oikawa’s relaxed grip, “My favorite healthy and cheap restaurant!”</p><p>“Wow~!” Oikawa looked up at the slightly dirty sign, eyes wide, and then, he tilted his head down, brown eyes catching Hinata’s, and he smiled, “Let’s go, I’m getting hungry.”</p><p>Hinata nodded, rapidly, unable to speak under the glow of Oikawa’s smile, exuberant and almost ethereal. If Hinata was the sun, Oikawa was a galaxy, a bright milky way, all encompassing.</p><p>Together, they walked into the restaurant, sighing in appreciation as the air conditioning washed over them. Hinata stepped into the line before the register, head cocked to one side as he read the menu. His eyes darted back and forth between two options, murmuring quietly in Portuguese. Hinata let his eyes shift to the side, and up, glancing at Oikawa’s face.</p><p>His lips were turned down in a frown of concentration, and as Hinata’s eyes lingered on him, Oikawa turned to face him, frown still in place.</p><p>“What are you getting Chibi-chan?”</p><p>Hinata grinned as he answered, the words tumbling out of his mouth rapidly, “I was thinking about getting my regular, but I kind of want rice not just salad, so I’m stuck between those two,” he pauses to point up at the two dishes, “but now that I’m thinking about it, that one also looks good, oooooh or maybe—”</p><p>He stops and points at two different items on the menu, inhaling loudly to continue his tirade, but he pauses and turns his head to look at Oikawa. Hinata's breath catches in his throat. The soft smile on Oikawa’s face widens to one of amusement, nose crinkling slightly, at the wheezing, choking noise that escapes Hinata’s mouth. Trying to cover up the squeak that followed, Hinata coughs loudly, clearing his throat, hands falling back down. He let his eyes roam around the room, resting on Oikawa every few seconds.</p><p>“I’m not entirely sure…” Hinata muttered awkwardly, trailing off at the end.</p><p>Hinata wasn’t completely emotionally stunted, he knew he was the very picture of GAY PANIC right now. His mind was whirling as he tried to remember what he was going to say, but all he could think was <em>WOW</em>, and <em>oh</em>, and <em>GWAAHH</em>! And Hinata didn’t <em>like</em> Oikawa, he barely knew him, but Oikawa was handsome. Beautiful. He’d been panicking since he first laid eyes on Oikawa and his biceps. The new Argentina confident Oikawa. His brain finally caught up to his current situation, and he was sixteen and screaming because he could barely comprehend.</p><p>Here he was, in Rio, sweating buckets, in a small restaurant, about to eat <em>dinner</em> with a person who’d existed as an enigma before this moment. A memory associated with high school, and disappointment, and victory, and Kageyama. Oikawa was just, smiling. Seemingly amused by every other thing Hinata did. It was kind. Sweet, in a way. Every laugh, every smile directed at Hinata made his heart jump. It didn’t soar and tumble in a breathless, (<em>will never recover</em>) sort of way, but it sped up—stuttered—like a cold engine trying to start after a freezing night.</p><p>Oikawa, sparing Hinata further panic and embarrassment, turned to face the menu again, lips still upturned in the echoes of his last smile.</p><p>“So,” Oikawa mused, drawing out the <em>o</em>, “how about this, I’ll get your usual, and you get the other dish you wanted. We can split it, and we can order one more dish to share, I’m sure we could finish it.”</p><p>“That sounds perfect! You’re a genius!” Hinata exclaimed, voice at least two octaves higher than normal, face frozen in a half smile.</p><p>Hinata resolutely turned away from Oikawa and stared at the head of the person standing in front of him. He was too hungry and too tired to focus on the swirling of emotions in his stomach, the mixture of embarrassment and…something akin to <em>want</em>.</p><p>Their conversation petered out as they waited to order, Hinata fidgeting with his shirt again, fingers pulling at the cotton and tapping out random rhythms. In his peripheral vision, he caught Oikawa’s hands threaded together in front of him, thumbs tapping and twirling around each other.</p><p> </p><p>This. This was an awkward silence.</p><p> </p><p>After a few minutes, they finally made it to the counter, and Hinata ordered for them. Oikawa paid silently, with a smile directed at the woman behind the register. Hinata could see his own panic mirrored in her face as a tentative smile wobbled across her face, a slight blush spreading across her sun darkened skin. Oikawa was magnetic.</p><p>Hinata wandered to a table, set down their water cups, and slid into the booth, leaving the chair open for Oikawa. As he waited for Oikawa to join him, Hinata let his eyes close, wracking his brain for topics they could talk about. Shared interests that weren’t just volleyball. Like an old album, he flipped through the snapshots of his few encounters with Oikawa and the few tidbits of information Kageyama had reluctantly shared with him.</p><p>Something snagged in his mind, a small spark, a single memory of Oikawa and his vice captain…Iwa…something. He could almost hear the echoes of Oikawa’s lilting, whining, “Iwa-chan!”</p><p>To Hinata’s knowledge, they’d been close friends, and he recalled the way Oikawa’s hand had lingered on Iwa’s (<em>what was the rest of his name?</em>) back. Hinata wasn’t one to stifle his curiosity, and now that that memory had pulled his focus, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.</p><p>He opened his eyes, he wanted to <em>know</em>. His knees started bouncing, feet tapping rapidly, as he watched Oikawa walk to their table. In the back of his mind, he knew he shouldn’t ask right away, that he should wait and let Oikawa lead their conversation. Start with volleyball and slowly move to the topic of friends. But he’d never been good at waiting. Or being subtle. So any plans of subtly hinting at Oikawa’s relationship with…Iwa-(?) would never work out.</p><p>Hinata’s self control disappeared the instant Oikawa sat, and took a sip of water.</p><p>“So what’s the deal with you and Iwa…?” He asked, far too loudly.</p><p>Oikawa choked and coughed, face turning red as he stared at Hinata’s innocent expression, his too innocent expression.</p><p>He cleared his throat twice, trying to gain some semblance of control as he answered in a fairly steady voice, “Do you mean Iwaizumi?”</p><p>Hinata’s face lit up and he nodded, “Yeah! Iwaizumi! What happened to you two after you graduated high school? With you going to Argentina and everything?”</p><p>“Well,” Oikawa said slowly, shoulders stiff, “Iwa-chan and I sort of drifted apart a bit. I mean we’re still friends, but he went to America. Anyways, university, and the time difference, all those little things, it made it difficult to talk everyday.”</p><p>“Hmm,” Hinata murmured, brows furrowed, “friends, huh?”</p><p>Their eyes met as Hinata squinted his eyes, taking in the set of Oikawa’s jaw, the carefully blank expression. He noticed the slight flush to Oikawa’s face, and he pushed on.</p><p>“You know, I only really saw you guys interact maybe two or three times? But for some reason I thought you might’ve been, well…more than, uh, friends?”</p><p>Hinata stared openly, waiting semi-patiently as Oikawa took a deep breath, blinking slowly as he ordered his thoughts into neat rows. He prepared himself for the slight pang in his chest as he slowly answered, “Nope, well, maybe yes, before graduation? But no, we’re just friends, now.”</p><p>Oikawa smiled brightly, eyes closed, his classic fake smile as he continued talking, “We work better as friends, and it’s been three years. Iwa-chan is just a good friend now.”</p><p>“Oh! Okay. So, you don’t, uh, you know…uh—” Hinata trailed off.</p><p>A chuckle interrupted him, and his eyes snapped up to Oikawa’s face, “If you’re trying to find a nice way of asking if I still have feelings for him, the answer is no. He’s my friend. It was a high school crush, but I’ve moved on.”</p><p>Slowly, Hinata nodded, a nervous giggle slipping out, “I see. Cool. Cool-cool-coolcool coolcoolcool.”</p><p>A devious glint appeared in Oikawa’s face, a smirk pulling one cheek higher than the other, he opened his mouth, and just for a second Hinata feared for his life and severely regretted his impulsiveness.</p><p>A waiter swept towards their table and Hinata quickly exclaimed, “Oh! Our food!” Effectively cutting Oikawa off and slightly distracting him.</p><p>The waiter set their plates down, and in unison, Oikawa’s lower relaxed timbre drowned out by Hinata’s loud cry, they said, “Itadakimasu!”</p><p>Hinata shoveled food into his mouth with gusto, eyes down focused on his plate. He glanced up at Oikawa, who was bent slightly forward, raising his first bite to his mouth. Hinata quickly sat up, eyes wide waiting for Oikawa’s reaction. He wanted him to <em>like</em> the food. He felt like a puppy waiting for praise from its master.</p><p>Oikawa looked up at Hinata’s waiting, open, hopeful expression. Hinata grinned, cheeks slightly puffed out with the food in his mouth. Oikawa flashed a grin and stuck his hand forward, fingers curled into a thumbs up, and he said around the mouthful, “So good!”</p><p>The closed-lipped smile on Hinata’s face widened as he nodded and stated in affirmative, “Right!?”</p><p>And, in an unspoken agreement, they both tucked in, inhaling their food.</p><p>Once they’d cleaned their plates, Hinata felt more relaxed and, before he could really think about the question he was asking, blurted out, “Oikawa, have you seen any of Kageyama’s matches, lately?”</p><p>Oikawa scoffed and rolled his eyes, “Nope.”</p><p>Somehow, Hinata successfully stifles a laugh, Kageyama’s glower crossing his mind, an exact replica of Oikawa’s current expression. That warm fuzzy glow of comfortable filled his chest as he watched Oikawa’s reaction, the echoes of Kageyama surrounding him.</p><p>Oikawa’s eyes flicked back to Hinata’s face, a slow smirk forming on his face.</p><p>“So,” he drawled lazily, “you and my cute kouhai, I assume you’re still friends?”</p><p>Red lights went off in Hinata’s brain, a loud alarm ringing with the word, “ABORT!” flashing brightly. It was Hinata’s turn to shift uncomfortably as he looked away from Oikawa, the wall behind him suddenly <em>very </em>interesting. Also those people eating a dish he hadn’t seen before, and wow was his cup that full, he couldn’t remember.</p><p>“Hinata?” Oikawa said, voice raising at the end.</p><p>He snapped his attention back to Oikawa, stiffly grinning as he started explaining, “Yes, friends. Yep, definitely still friends. Sorta, I mean we are, but we don’t talk that much anymore. I mean it’s probably my fault, Kageyama is all PRO now and stuff so that’s cool. But he’s busy like <em>all the time</em> and we can’t really find the time for uh. Any kind of conversation, I text him sometimes but he doesn’t always answer. I guess we’re going through that phase of friendship that you and Iwaizumi went through, huh? Sucks a bit doesn’t it? Wow I guess if anyone could understand how I’m feeling it would <em>definitely be you</em>.”</p><p>His mouth clicked shut audibly, forcing himself to stop <em>word vomiting</em> so Oikawa could answer his first questions and react. Hesitantly, he lifted his head to meet Oikawa’s eyes, and all he saw was…Understanding.</p><p>Oikawa exhaled loudly, averting his gaze, “Yeah, shrimp, I get it. And it does suck. It’s pretty shitty actually.”</p><p>He looked back at Hinata, “Anyways, life continues. People change.” He narrowed his eyes, “Do you wanna have a deep existential talk about this?”</p><p>It was an opening, it wasn’t accusatory or reluctant. Hinata could tell Oikawa was genuinely asking, and <em>open</em>. The truth was, Hinata didn’t want to spend more time thinking about the friends that were changing in ways he couldn’t see or be there for. He knew he’d have to deal with it eventually, but not here, or now, with arguably the only person that might understand exactly what he was going through. He shook his head, letting denial take over.</p><p>“So,” Hinata changed the subject to a safer topic, “why did you go to Argentina?”</p><p>Oikawa leaned forward and let his chin rest in his hand, before answering, lost in the memory of the life changing game he saw in elementary school. Hinata listened intently, reminiscing the time when he fell in love with volleyball. He felt connected to Oikawa, like some integral part of who he was as a person was laid out in front of Hinata to take in.</p><p>He shivered with the intensity in Oikawa’s eyes as he stated, determined, “The stage I want to stand on hasn’t changed.”</p><p>Just as quickly as he’d gotten serious, Oikawa leaned back, relaxed, hands behind his head, a smirk on his face.</p><p>“By the way, I thought I was doing something kinda out there, but,” Oikawa chuckled in amusement, “beach volleyball on the other side of the globe is…”</p><p>Excitement coursed through Hinata and he leaned forward, a big grin on his face, eyes wide, “Come on! Let’s go play!! Around here everyone plays until pretty late!”</p><p>“Alright, shrimp, you’re on.” Oikawa leaned forward in his chair, lowering his voice, “You’ve gotten pretty high and mighty wanting to fight it out with me.”</p><p>Hinata grinned in response, and reached out, tugging on Oikawa’s arm to lead him out of the restaurant and back towards his favorite section of beach.</p><p>“Maybe…let’s see what you got Grand King!”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. not to feel alone (oikawa)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Okay so this chapter is shorter (sorry) ya girl is terrible and doesn't write linearly, nor does she plot out all of the story. So this chapter stumped me for a while after I wrote all of chapter four...ANYWAYS. Sorry if Oiks is a lil OOC, and uh let me know if you notice anything weird/wrong in terms of spelling or grammar. I didn't get this beta'd and...may not have read it over.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Oikawa stumbled forward, the bright lights shining down on the beach volleyball courts casting a short shadow as he dives for the falling volleyball. It drifted just out of his reach, and he skidded, chest and stomach landing heavily on the soft packed sand, almost face planting.</p><p>He grunted—more out of surprise than pain—annoyance and embarrassment filling him in equal parts. He winced a bit as he heard a soft, barely muffled laugh from Hinata.</p><p>Pushing onto his hands and knees, Oikawa whipped his head up to glare at Hinata, and he shouted, whining a little, “Volleyball’s in the name, but this is a totally different sport! I’m a beginner here!”</p><p>Oikawa felt the heavy press of indignation lift at the evident amusement on Hinata’s face as he answered, seemingly half-joking, “I get a real sense of supremacy from you, right now!”</p><p>His competitiveness spiked at the words, but jealousy Oikawa might’ve once felt never came as he yelled back, “Seriously?!”</p><p>He pushed himself up, brushing sand off his hands and knees as he stood up. Oikawa watched as Hinata bent down, kneeling in the sand and reaching for the volleyball, a reverent expression on his face as he carefully brushed sand off of the ball.</p><p>“Today…” Hinata started, a softer tone to his voice, as his hands continued wiping the ball clean, “for one second, just for one second, I was really depressed, but after meeting you, I’m feeling way, way, way better!”</p><p>Oikawa barely contained a gasp as Hinata looked up, away from the ball in his hands, a wide smile stretched across his sun-tanned skin. He was a sunflower, opening its new yellow petals to the sun, radiant and beautiful.</p><p>Maybe it was the weird space between much too late and not late enough. Or it was the simple delight Hinata showed in the oddest of ways. Maybe it was the fatigue of trying beach volleyball for the first time, but Oikawa didn’t want to let go of Hinata’s smile or time. He wanted to scrape these little moments together and find more.</p><p>Fondness nudged at him him as he grinned, “…treat me to dinner next time, then.”</p><p>An invitation, an order, and a suggestion. Hope bloomed in his chest at the way Hinata flushed and smiled even brighter. He lurched forward, reaching out to pull Hinata to his feet.</p><p>As Oikawa helped him up, his eyes drifted down Hinata’s flushed cheeks, the petal pink of his lips, the lean soft curve of his neck, the strong tan hand gripping Oikawa’s thinner fingers. He shook himself slightly, gaze flicking back up to meet Hinata’s inquisitive stare, the light, honey-colored brown, bright under the shine of the streetlamp.</p><p>With a smirk, Oikawa yanked Hinata forward a little, their chests bumping once, knees knocking. “Let’s take a picture together and send it to <em>everyone~</em>!”</p><p>He let go of Hinata’s hand to reach for the phone in his back pocket, and he placed one arm around Hinata’s shoulders, turning them to stand side by side. Hinata grinned up at him, strong arm wrapping around Oikawa’s waist, “I’d love to!”</p><p>Oikawa threw his head back and laughed, something about Hinata sparked a feeling in him he hadn’t felt since he moved to Argentina. He was setting a perfect ball for the first time again, excitement thrumming under his skin as he yanked his phone out of his back pocket, thumb quickly swiping to the camera app.</p><p>He felt Hinata’s shoulders shaking, a soft chuckle morphing into a louder guffaw. Through his gasps for air, Hinata manages to eke out, “Wait, what are we doing?”</p><p>A soft snort escaped Oikawa as he pondered that question, before shrugging, sliding a bit behind Hinata, phone held high, camera pointed down at them, “Do whatever!”</p><p>Then he promptly stuck his tongue out, staring straight at the camera, the corners of his mouth lifted in a grin. Hinata’s eyes widened in surprise, then crinkled in amusement at Oikawa’s expression. With a huff of amusement, he stuck his own tongue out, turned a bit, and stared at the expanse of sand to the left of the camera.</p><p>Oikawa snapped a few quick photos, face relaxing as Hinata whipped his head back to look at him excitedly, bouncing in place.</p><p>“How does it look? Can I see? Is it funny?” He paused and ran to his bag before Oikawa could answer, rambling as he searched for his phone, “Send it to me, Oikawa! I want to send it to all of Karasuno! Are you going to send it to all of Aoba Johsai?”</p><p>Hinata stopped as he yelled in triumph, phone in his raised hand and he bounded back to where Oikawa was. Oikawa smiled in amusement, flippantly scrolling through the photos he took. Hinata reminded Oikawa of a hummingbird, darting from topic to topic, face phasing from expression to expression, emotion to emotion; pausing to sip at nectar for a few seconds—focus on a topic—before flitting away, carried to whatever caught his eye, his mind next.</p><p>The warm skin of Hinata’s arm brushed his own as Hinata leaned closer to look at the photos. They picked the best photo, and, just as they were about to exchange contact info, a loud voice interrupted them, “Hey Jackie Chan! Wanna play?”</p><p>Oikawa raised his eyebrows, glancing at Hinata’s determined expression. </p><p>“Do they think I’m Chinese?” Oikawa mused before facing the two challengers and shouting back, “Not Jackie Chan, Watanabe Ken!”</p><p>He felt the burn of excitement, as Hinata yelled in agreement, “Challenge accepted!”</p><p>They quickly decided on a one set match, and settled on opposite sides of the court. Hinata jumped a few times, knees lifting high as he warmed up his muscles, and Oikawa stalked to the back of the court. A small crowd gathered as he spun the ball a few times, unfounded confidence building.</p><p>Hinata glanced back and they exchanged a quick nod.</p><p>“It’s getting late,” Oikawa murmured to himself, “We’ll win this quick.”</p><p>He tossed the ball high in the air, and jumped, ready to deliver his usual jump serve. Oikawa’s arm swung hard and…whiffed, arm swinging through air as the wind carried the ball just out of his reach. He landed in the sand, the ball thudding just in front of him.</p><p>The loud laughs of their opponents ripped through the air and Oikawa couldn’t stop himself from yelling in exasperation, “Hey wind! Read the atmosphere here! You are atmosphere, aren’t you?!”</p><p>Out of the corner of his eye, Oikawa saw Hinata’s face go blank, so he took a deep breath, determination building as he shook his arms loose. He settled into his receiving stance as one of their opponents, Gino, served the ball.</p><p>The ball arced through the air, falling right in front of Oikawa, and he pushed forward, arms outstretched to receive the ball. As it flew up towards the front of the court, in the perfect place for the setter, Oikawa ran forward, muscles protesting at the unfamiliar feeling of ever shifting sand. He felt slow in comparison to his usual speed, the sand adding a heaviness to his stride.</p><p>He watched Hinata position himself under the falling ball, leaping to meet it, fingers outstretched, ready to set it. Oikawa jumped, lower than usual, but high enough, to spike the ball. He felt a surge of frustration as the ball landed just outside the court.</p><p>Oikawa sighed once, and let his brain work, his body slightly adjusting as he took in Hinata’s advice on how to set in beach volleyball. The next ball went up, and it was his time to shine, he might not know the intricacies of beach volleyball, but he knew setting. Oikawa let his fingers spread a bit wider, just as Hinata said, and as he felt the usual heft of the ball in his hands, he pushed upwards, letting the ball fly up in an almost perfect set.</p><p>He couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face as he watched Hinata jump, and tap the ball just in.</p><p>Oikawa cried out in exasperation, “Too close. Sorry!”</p><p>And the game went on, points exchanged steadily back and forth, but slowly, their opponents pulled ahead. Oikawa felt his inexperience on this new terrain pulling at him, and through his frustration at just missed digs, joy welled up with each connection. With each exchanged high five with Hinata, and each groan of disappointment.</p><p>Then, it was all over in a flash, Gabriel’s jump serve too quick, and the wind blowing the ball just out of their reach. The final spray of sand settled as the gathered crowd cheered, and reluctantly, Oikawa stood up. Together, he and Hinata paid for Gino and Gabriel’s beers (quietly...and not so quietly seething at the matching smug smirks on their faces). </p><p>Slowly, they wandered back to the beach courts, arms brushing every now and then, the adrenaline of the game fading. Oikawa opened and closed his mouth, trying to figure out a way to see Hinata again during his stay in Rio. To go to dinner again. He liked his Argentina teammates, but it’d been so long since he’d been comfortable around someone the way he was with Hinata. The fire he saw in Hinata stoked his own, and he felt a spark he hadn’t felt since, well, high school. </p><p>He glanced down at Hinata’s bouncing gait, his ever fidgeting hands, and the sheer happiness he was emanating. There was something relaxing about Hinata’s personality and his ever shifting voice, rising and falling with every other word.</p><p>Hinata’s exuberant voice broke his silent musing, “How long are you in Rio, Oikawa!?!”</p><p>Hinata started to bounce more, a flurry of movements as he bounded a few steps ahead and turned to face Oikawa and continue his tirade, “Where are you staying?! Give me your contact number!”</p><p>A smirk made its way onto Oikawa’s face as he answered, “Breathe, breathe. It’s a one week stay, and I’m staying nearby.”</p><p>His heart thrummed faster in his chest, as he started to pull out his phone, mind already planning to ask Hinata to lunch, or dinner, or maybe to a club, anything.</p><p>“Let’s play here again! I wanna hit your awesome tosses!” Hinata shouted, eyes sparkling in excitement.</p><p>And it was high school again, an excited younger member of his team wanting him to toss to them again and again. It was a slap on the shoulders, a good job, a gruff, “I’ll hit any toss you throw my way.” It’d been far too long since he’d been on the receiving end of such exuberance, lightning across a still sky, disrupting the blank repetition he’d gotten used to. Hinata was like summer rainfall on a too hot day, kissing his over-warmed skin with a cool brush.</p><p>It was that familiarity that made him fall into the patterns of his high school persona, so he let his head fall back, let his face screw up in a fake reluctance, “Well…if I have time? And also if I’m in the mood for it, I suppose I could play with you?”</p><p>He let his head tip forward at the last word, his expression turning to one of sincerity as Hinata’s face lit up even brighter, a star going supernova.</p><p>“THANKS!!”</p><p>Hinata whipped out his own phone, like he was worried Oikawa would back out at any moment. But he wouldn’t, it felt almost compulsory, he couldn’t bear the idea of saying <em>no</em> to Hinata. He wanted to see all the varieties of Hinata’s joy and determination.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> Oikawa wanted to experience first hand all the ways he’d grown, changed.</span></p><p>They exchanged numbers, and just for the fun of it, Oikawa input Hinata’s name as “Shrimpy” to hear him whine, and see his expression turn annoyed, with a hint of happiness in his wide vivid eyes.</p><p>There was something pulling them together, or maybe just Oikawa to Hinata, he was attached to the unassuming strength and array of emotions he’d seen in the short time they’d spent together. Maybe Hinata felt it too, because instead of parting ways, they walked the length of the beach, talking about volleyball and whatever caught their attention.</p><p>The night air grew cooler as they strolled through the dry sand, and the ocean breeze ruffled the messy fluff that was Hinata’s hair. Orange strands floated to rest across his forehead, as he snickered at the way Oikawa sneered at the mere mention of Kageyama. Oikawa hadn’t really felt any true animosity for Kageyama in years (<em>maybe a brief flare up at the mention of his achievements…maybe</em>), because of time and continents apart, but he was fascinated with the way Hinata’s eyes flashed in recognition. The way they almost glazed over, lost in a memory of some different time before sharpening and focusing on Oikawa again. The almost involuntary giggles that would fall from his lips with every expression of disdain and disinterest.</p><p>But though it might’ve felt like time had paused, it didn’t, and the clock ticked on, and the days fatigue was evidently catching up to Hinata. His eyes drooped sleepily, and Oikawa knew he couldn’t cling to this night any more, couldn’t continue walking along the cool sand as the center of Hinata’s attention. So, he lifted a hand to the soft mess of orange and ruffled Hinata’s hair.</p><p>“You should head home, Shrimp.” Oikawa murmured, voice almost a whisper as he took in the soft smile on Hinata’s face.</p><p>The smile widened as Hinata nodded, blinking hard a few times to push away the impending exhaustion, “Thanks, Oikawa. For today. I’ll see you sometime this week?”</p><p>“Yeah, I’ll—” Oikawa paused, and let his fingertips brush the wisps of hair resting on Hinata’s forehead, “I’ll text you. You still owe me dinner, right?”</p><p>Hinata nodded vigorously and stepped backwards, out of Oikawa’s reach. They weren’t anything, but Oikawa’s chest almost twinged painfully, something like worry seizing him at the idea Hinata was slipping away from him. An enigma that would disappear if he let go now.</p><p>He couldn’t hold him though, so he lifted his hand in a halfhearted wave, a sad smile tugging at his lips, as he watched Hinata wander away, turning back once to wave goodbye.</p><p>And then he was sprinting towards the courts, lit up by the street lights. All Oikawa could do was retrace their footsteps slowly, and watch as Hinata jumped onto his bike and rode away, swallowed by the dark streets.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>PLZ DONT BE MEAN TO ME. SORRY THE NEXT CHAP SHOULD BE LONGER. AND ALSO MIGHT HAVE A CLUB SCENE WHO KNOWS I DONT AND IM THE WRITER LOL. A kudos would be much appreciated and I hope my few readers stick with me bc IT GETS BETTER OK. also I know it isn't completely accurate to the manga...I got lazy.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Give me a kudos, maybe. PERHAPS. I NEED VALIDATION OKAY. Let me know what you think too, or if there's some typo I missed etc.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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